


Resolution

by loves_books



Series: Impregnable [7]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Family Feels, Forced Pregnancy, Gen, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Medical Procedures, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-16 01:34:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16075577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: Things in the Rangers just hadn’t been the same after Face had disappeared, nearly seventeen years ago. Their lieutenant had left in the middle of the night without a word of goodbye, off on some top-secret mission according to Hannibal, and then he’d never returned. He’d been declared MIA one year later, then KIA another six months down the line.BA and Murdock hadn’t believed it then, and they still didn’t believe it now.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always with this series in particular, please do take a look at the tags before reading on, and also please note that I've again chosen not to use archive warnings. This will make no sense at all if you haven't already read the previous works in this series.

BA threw his newspaper aside in disgust, the graphic photos and descriptions leaving a nasty taste in his mouth and a twisted feeling of nausea deep in his gut. The more details that leaked out about the horrors perpetrated behind the family-friendly façade of the ‘New Institute For Medical Improvements’, the less BA found he wanted to know.

The first the world had known about the so-called ‘humane experimentation’ had been the explosion a week ago, which had destroyed more than half the labs. There had been surprisingly few lives lost given the size of the blast, but ever since then there had been an endless series of arrests, doctors and nurses and scientists facing prosecution for everything from wrongful imprisonment to outright torture, all gleefully reported by the press in lurid detail.

There had been survivors too, rescued from the depths of the labs, some of them apparently held against their will for several years. So far even the papers had respected their need to remain anonymous while they received proper medical care and counselling.

Just the very thought of what hell those survivors might have been through made BA sick to his stomach, and he quickly flipped the newspaper over, hiding the cover photo of a burned out surgical suite. He’d faced torture during his time in the Rangers, but that was all long behind him now thankfully. He had a new life now. A wonderful and unexpected life.

Turning his thoughts deliberately away from the news, and turning his gaze to the garden beyond his window, BA mused on how much his life had changed. Things in the Rangers just hadn’t been the same after Face had disappeared, nearly seventeen years ago now. Their lieutenant had left in the middle of the night without a word of goodbye, off on some top-secret mission according to Hannibal, and then he’d never returned. He’d been declared MIA one year later, then KIA another six months down the line.

BA hadn’t believed it then, and he still didn’t believe it now. Face was nothing if not resourceful and loyal, and above all things he was a survivor. He’d have found a way to get a message of some sort to them, some kind of explanation or reason, but there had been nothing. 

Hannibal had claimed to have heard from Face in those early months, of course. Hannibal had told them Face was doing just fine. But then Hannibal had suddenly taken a stateside transfer, nine months after Face’s strange disappearance, and he’d never returned either. Sure there had been the odd phone call at first, then the occasional email, but even those had eventually petered out into nothing.

By the time Face had officially been declared dead, neither BA nor Murdock had heard from Hannibal in months. He hadn’t even shown up to the funeral. 

Maybe it had simply hurt too much for their former Colonel to return without his lover, but whatever the reason, BA and Murdock had just let Hannibal go without a fight. But they still asked around about Face, of course, desperate for any information about what might have happened to him and refusing to believe he was dead. General Morrison had tried to help but could only tell them it was all highly classified and advise them to leave it alone. Every base they went to, they sent out feelers trying to find anyone who might have seen or heard from Face. In every base, they found nothing.

To this day, Murdock was convinced it was the CIA, and even BA had to admit the whole thing stank of deep undercover work. But he still couldn’t believe Face would just leave them like that. Not their brilliant Faceman. The whole thing felt unresolved, even after so many long years had passed.

Somehow, BA had never once questioned Hannibal’s slow disappearance from their lives. 

Still, things had worked out well enough for the remnants of their once-close Alpha unit, and BA couldn’t regret the direction their lives had taken after the loss of both Hannibal and Face. Murdock had quit the service two years after Face’s farce of a funeral – an empty coffin, a posthumous medal, words of grief from the General which sounded hollow to BA’s ears – and BA had followed the pilot into civilian life barely two months later.

BA had been surprised to find he missed Murdock, something he’d never thought could be possible. The bigger surprise had been the reason _why_ he’d missed Murdock so much, but the look of sudden hope and dawning joy in his crazy pilot’s face the moment before BA kissed him for the first time made him realise he’d been a fool for waiting so long.

They’d been together for more than ten years now, and married for six. Murdock – James – was a civilian pilot for a high-end private jet company, while BA ran a small chain of automotive repair centres, and they were incredibly happy and still very deeply in love.

Hannibal had sent a wedding card, but that was the last they had ever heard from him. He could be dead for all BA knew.

BA stretched slowly in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head and crossing his legs at the ankle, savouring the rare silence of a midweek afternoon off work. It was nice to have the house to himself for a little while, before chaos descended once again. 

He wouldn’t change his life for anything, though it wasn’t always easy. Marriage to James wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows; there were still bad days when the meds didn’t quite work, and equally bad days for BA when he needed some space, but for the most part BA loved his husband more than anything in the world.

Well, more than almost anything.

Their lives had been changed once again five years ago, when they’d had the twins. James had been the one to carry them, taking advantage of the developments in male pregnancy, though they’d talked quite seriously about carrying one each. In the end they’d decided that having that many hormones in one house at the same time, coupled with Ranger training and instincts, was probably not a good combination. BA had already been a little nervous about James coming off some of his meds for the duration of his pregnancy, but he needn’t have worried.

Pregnancy had actually mellowed James considerably, and fatherhood had been a wonderfully stabilising factor for them both. Little Temp and Jack – named for Face, naturally, and for James’s much-missed grandfather – were quite a handful, but they brought joy and laughter into every moment of every day.

Face would have been the most incredible uncle, BA knew, and he would’ve spoiled their baby boys absolutely rotten. 

BA couldn’t imagine Hannibal with kids, somehow.

Checking his watch, BA startled when he saw the time. His peaceful afternoon had flown by; James would be home soon, after his early morning flight up the coast and back, and he’d be picking up the boys from school on his way. They’d be expecting dinner on the table, which meant BA needed to get moving.

Just as he stood, the doorbell suddenly rang, the sound loud in the quiet, empty house. BA wasn’t expecting anyone, even though he had to concede it was entirely possible that James had forgotten his keys yet again, so he headed towards the hall with a grin on his face and a smart comment ready for his husband, only to see what appeared to be a young man waiting outside the clear glass front door, facing away from him towards the garden.

“Can I help you?” BA asked as he swung the door open wide, only to have his breath stolen away when the young man turned quickly to face him.

More of a boy than a man, really, though he was nearly six feet tall, wearing jeans and a black sweater with a heavy rucksack slung over one shoulder. He had wavy brown hair and a distinctive nose, and shining eyes in a particular shade of bright sapphire blue that BA had only ever seen on one person in his entire life.

“Hi there. Are you Mr Baracus?” the young man asked, obviously a little anxious, though his voice was clear and steady. “Or, sorry, Mr Murdock maybe?”

“We’re hyphenated,” BA replied automatically, though his brain was trying to catch up with what or _who_ he was looking at. He only realised he was staring when his visitor shifted uncomfortably in place. “I’m sorry, it’s just… you’re the spitting image of someone I used to know, a long time ago. What I can do for you, son?”

The kid smiled briefly, shaking his head and biting his lip, burying his hands deep in his pockets with a nervous shrug.

“Funny you should say that, actually. I think you knew my father, Templeton Peck.”


	2. Chapter 2

Murdock hummed happily to himself as he turned the car into his driveway at last. An unexpected invitation for the boys to go to a friend’s house for dinner and a sleepover meant a rare evening at home alone with his husband. It had been a long time since they’d last had a date night, and Murdock could hardly wait.

He wouldn’t change their lives for anything, and he loved their two boys more than life, but grown-up time had become precious in a way he’d never expected. 

He’d decided not to text Bosco, wanting it to be a surprise, but as Murdock parked the car and turned off the ignition, he spotted his husband at the front door, talking to someone. Looked like a teenager to Murdock, though he could only see the back of whoever it was. 

Hoping they could get rid of their visitor quickly, he jumped out of the driver’s seat with his briefcase and headed over towards the door at a trot, calling, “Honey, I’m home! What’s going on?”

Bosco spotted him and started to raise a hand, a look of stunned shock on his handsome face. “James, wait – ”

And then their visitor turned around.

Murdock felt as if a sledgehammer had smashed into his chest, knocking all the breath from his lungs.

“What…?” he managed to gasp, dropping his briefcase to the path and taking half a step backwards. “It can’t be… Face?”

The tall young man standing in front of him frowned slightly, apparently confused, while Bosco looked like he was about to cry. 

It was Face, surely, or at least a much younger version of their lost friend. The same eyes, the same nose, the same chin, the same curls. This Face was still growing, clearly, a little gangly and coltish on long legs, but Murdock could already see he would have the same broad shoulders and narrow hips as their much-missed friend.

He took a shaky breath and found the strength to step forwards again, until he could reach out a hand to press gently against Young Face’s chest. “Is it really you?” he whispered, feeling tears prickling at the back of his eyes. “Where’ve you been, Face-man? What happened to you?”

“My name is Charles,” Young Face said hesitantly, holding his ground and allowing Murdock’s roaming hand. “Charles Joyce. I don’t know – ”

“Templeton Peck preferred to be called Face,” Bosco stated quietly, for reasons Murdock didn’t quite understand until Young Face – Charles – took a sudden deep breath and nodded once.

“Well, I guess that clears that up,” Charles whispered, almost to himself. “They told me I was only his surrogate son, not his _biological_ son, but then I saw a photo and I thought… I mean, I guess I do look a bit like him after all.”

“You’re the spitting image of him, son.” Bosco slipped a visibly trembling hand onto Charles’s shoulder, and Murdock managed to meet his husband’s teary eyes. “No doubting who your father is.”

Murdock shook his head and blinked hard, trying to focus. This wasn’t Face, coming home to them at last after almost seventeen years away. This was Face’s _child_.

Face had a _son_.

“Where is he?” Murdock suddenly asked, looking around desperately as if his long lost best friend might suddenly appear. “Is he here?”

Charles bit his lip, and Murdock suddenly remembered the teenager’s earlier words. If he’d only seen ever a photo…

Oh. No. 

“We should sit down and talk,” Bosco said quietly, the same realisation obvious in his devastated face, and Murdock nodded numbly, allowing his husband to lead them all indoors.

The world seemed a little hazy around the edges to Murdock as he followed Young Face – Charles Joyce – into the living room. He collapsed down into his favourite armchair as Bosco settled on the sofa next to their guest, who perched nervously on the edge of the cushions with his rucksack at his feet. 

No matter how he tried, Murdock couldn’t tear his eyes away from Face’s son. It had been seventeen long years since Face had disappeared without a word, and they had never managed to find out what had happened to him, though they had tried every avenue they could think of. But Murdock had never once believed his friend was dead, not even when they packed up his belongings and buried an empty coffin. 

He’d always expected that Face would find his way back to them one day. A little older and a little worn at the edges perhaps, but still smiling that wide grin of his, blue eyes twinkling brightly.

Murdock still missed Face every day, and he knew Bosco felt the same, though they rarely spoke about him these days. Family life kept them busy, but every time he looked at their beautiful twins, he knew just how much Face would have loved being their favourite uncle, and his heart broke a little. 

“Where are the boys?” Bosco suddenly asked, turning to Murdock in concern.

He tried on a reassuring smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “Round at Sammy’s for the night.”

Charles had clearly noticed the numerous framed photos of their family of four, displayed proudly on the walls and the coffee table, and he asked, “You’ve got kids?”

“Twin boys, Temp and Jack,” Murdock managed to say. “They’re five now. Still our babies, though.”

Charles leaned forwards a little. “Temp?” he repeated, and Murdock nodded, managing a slightly more natural smile.

“Named after Templeton, yes. After Face.”

Bosco rested one big hand on Charles’s shoulder again as the young man suddenly ducked his head, visibly emotional. “What can you tell us, son?” he asked softly. “What happened to your father? And how did you find us?”

The next hour was, without a shadow of a doubt, the most upsetting of Murdock’s entire life, and he could only sit and listen with increasing horror. 

The very moment the words ‘New Institute For Medical Improvements’ left the young man’s mouth for the first time, Murdock somehow _knew_ where Face had been all these years, and his heart broke cleanly in two. The increasingly graphic reports on the news and in the papers had given Murdock a number of PTSD attacks before he’d taken to avoiding them like the plague. 

But he couldn’t avoid hearing this. He had to hear the truth.

Charles spoke hesitantly at first then with increasing confidence as he explained the nightmares he had only learned of in the last week or so. He’d had a thoroughly normal and happy childhood, raised by parents he truly believed were his own. He’d been visiting the Institute all his life, once or twice a year for a simple check-up and blood test, and it had simply been an everyday part of his life. Until the doctors had suddenly decided to keep him in overnight on his last visit.

His parents had tried to refuse, trying to take him home with them, but Charles hadn’t understood their concern. The doctors were quite insistent, and if the doctors said they needed to run some tests, surely it was better that he stay in? He was a little worried; he didn’t want to get sick, not just before his exams.

In hindsight, he remembered there had been a large number of armed soldiers around the Institute that day, trying to appear inconspicuous. There had always been soldiers around, as Charles knew the Institute was partly military-controlled, and there had even been a tall, silver-haired Colonel present for some of his visits. 

That Colonel could only be one man, and the fact that Hannibal must have known, must have been _involved_ , made Murdock’s blood boil, though he managed to bite his tongue, knowing Charles needed to continue his tale uninterrupted.

After a surprisingly decent night’s sleep in a cosy room, Charles had been woken early the next morning by what sounded like a loud bang somewhere close by, before all the fire alarms started sounding. He now knew, of course, that it had been a huge explosion, a bomb. He now knew, though the press were apparently under a gagging order not to report it yet, that a group of activists had been tipped off by his parents, who were desperate to rescue him from what they knew was about to happen.

Charles grew increasingly upset as he told them what he’d found out since. That his parents weren’t his parents at all. That the Institute had been running fertility experiments for years, being the very first facility in the country to achieve a successful male pregnancy, and that he was the first-born son of a man referred to in most of the Institute’s records only as Subject Alpha.

Subject Alpha was Templeton Peck. 

Templeton Peck had been kept prisoner in the labs for seventeen years. Kept _pregnant_ for seventeen years.

Templeton Peck had died two short weeks ago of multiple organ failure, while carrying triplets.

The Institute had wanted to continue their experiments using Subject Alpha’s children, and Charles finally broke down in tears in front of Murdock and Bosco as he explained how he had been placed in a temporary care home since his close escape and offered counselling. He refused to see the people he had believed were his parents, though deep down he knew they must have loved him to orchestrate his rescue the way they had.

Murdock swallowed hard, feeling the silent tears streaming down his face, and met his husband’s equally devastated gaze across the room as Bosco moved quickly to pull Charles into a tight embrace. This was too much to process in one lump. Too much to even believe.

Except.

It all made painful sense, and Murdock knew in his heart that Charles was speaking the absolute truth, no matter how horrific that truth was. The Institute was barely an hour away; Face had been so close for so many years, and they’d never even suspected. 

Almost before he knew what he was doing, Murdock was up out of his chair and crossing the room to kneel at Charles’s feet, resting one hand between the teenager’s shoulder blades and the other on his husband’s knee.

“You’re safe now, Charles,” he murmured softly, voice rough with his own tears. “You’re free now. No one’s gonna hurt you. And we’re so glad you found us.”

There would be time for vengeance, and time for answers to the thousands of questions burning in Murdock’s mind. Now was the time for grief, and for comforting the traumatised teenager sobbing in Bosco’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has grown a little and will now have 3 parts, sorry. More at the weekend hopefully!


	3. Chapter 3

It was said that time healed all wounds but there were still moments, three years after the world learned the truth about the atrocities committed at the ‘Institute For Medical Improvements’, when Charles felt he knew differently.

There were some wounds too deep to ever truly heal. He only had to look at James and Bosco to know that much.

The two men and their sons had quickly become a second family to him after he’d turned up out of the blue on their doorstep, inviting him to stay with them that first night as they had all cried over the loss of the man Charles now thought of as Face. Witnessing their devastated grief at the loss of their friend, and the realisation of how much he must have suffered over the years, Charles had almost felt guilty for being so upset over the whole situation himself. 

After all, he’d never met his biological father. Had never even known he existed, whereas these two men had lived with him and worked with him and loved him, and spent so long searching for him and missing him when he had disappeared from their lives.

Even in their anguish, James and Bosco had generously told him he could stay with them for as long as he wanted, and Charles had met five-year-old Jack and Temp the next day when they’d come home after their sleepover. The boys had quickly adopted him as an honorary big brother, demanding he play video games with them and showing him all their favourite toys.

Charles had felt torn. He really hadn’t wanted to intrude any longer on their family life, though at the same time he’d dreaded returning to the care facility he’d been placed in after his rescue from the Institute. He still hadn’t felt ready to meet the people he’d believed were his parents either, and Temp and Jack had begged and pleaded with him until Charles had given in and agreed to stay, much to the delight of the boys’ parents who had each embraced him tightly.

In the end, he’d stayed with the Murdock-Baracas family for nearly a month on that first visit, and the two men had taken turns telling him hundreds of stories about his biological father and the adventures they’d all shared in the Rangers, though James and Bosco had also explained that Face had been a complicated human being and had faced plenty of challenges in his life.

There was the time Face had made a near impossible thousand-yard shot with a damaged sniper rifle. 

The time James had set Face’s arm on fire with a blow-torch.

The time Face had stolen a warlord’s sports car then sold it right back to the man.

The time they’d all flown a tank.

The time Face had hauled Bosco back into a crashing chopper with one hand.

So many stories, so many escapades, from years of brotherhood and comradeship. Parties and fights and quiet moments, injuries and close shaves and laughter and tears. Templeton Peck sounded like he had been an incredible man, brave and brilliant and funny and kind, and Charles wished with all his heart that he could have met him even once.

The stories and photos and precious moments caught on film made it even more difficult to accept the way Face’s life had ended, imprisoned and experimented on for so many agonising years, especially after James and Bosco had eventually sketched out the role of Face’s once-lover, Hannibal Smith. Charles had seen the two middle-aged family men for the trained special forces soldiers they truly were when they had first talked about what they would do to Smith when they found him.

Their righteous fury hadn’t been dampened at all by the discovery that the Colonel had been killed by his own side, along with two more of Face’s children – Charles’s sisters, one his biological half-sister and one a surrogate, both carried in Face’s unwilling body.

Charles still hadn’t met any of his other siblings, though he had been told by the investigating officers that there were eleven of them still living, all younger. None of them had ever been taken by the Institute, thank goodness, and one day he might decide to meet them, or they might want to track him down first. But for now, Temp and Jack were all the brothers he wanted. Anything more still made his head and his heart hurt.

But Charles _had_ eventually felt ready to meet his adoptive parents again, if only to hear their side of the story, nearly two months after he’d last seen them when they’d left him at the Institute. The police had still been investigating everyone involved in the matter and that first meeting had taken place in an interview room, supervised by a police office and a social worker.

Charles had demanded honesty, confused and upset and angry. If they had known the truth about the Institute the entire time, then why had they waited until Charles was at risk before taking action? Why hadn’t they acted years ago, when they could have saved Templeton Peck, and so many other innocent lives? 

Their tearful explanations had sounded hollow to Charles’s ears. They’d been threatened, they said, forced to cooperate. And they’d been lied to by the Institute, reassured that the experimental subjects were all volunteers. But they’d loved Charles, raising him as their son since he was only three days old, and things had suddenly become too real when they’d had to leave him behind.

They’d called a friend of a friend who they knew had some questionable acquaintances. One thing had led to another, and they insisted they hadn’t known there would be a bomb. Charles still wasn’t sure he believed them, though the fact remained that the Institute would quite likely still be carrying out it’s horrific experiments without their actions, on _him_.

They hadn’t gone to jail in the end – many others had been imprisoned for life, doctors and scientists and soldiers – and Charles had been able to rebuild something of a relationship with them over the last three years, supported by both Bosco and James who had become like Uncles to him. 

Even after taking that huge step, trying to move on and live a normal life had incredibly been hard, for all three of them. There were times when Charles caught James or Bosco watching him with oddly shining eyes and a wistful almost-smile, and he knew they were seeing their lost friend standing in front of them. 

But while their worlds had been completed rocked, the sun had continued to rise and set. Jack and Temp went to school every day, James and Bosco went back to work, and Charles returned to school to sit his exams. 

And eventually they found some sense of closure. What little remained of the Institute after the bomb had finally been torn down two years ago, and a housing complex built where it had once stood. There was a small memorial in the grounds to all those who had lost their lives in the name of science, and Charles had taken to visiting it from time to time, running his fingers gently over the names he recognised, of the people he had never had the chance to meet. His sisters. His father.

Emily Smith.

Eve Smith.

Templeton Peck.

“Charles?” A sudden voice broke into his thoughts. “Hey, Charles, where you at?”

“Here, Bosco.” Charles scrambled to his feet, dusting down his jeans as he stepped out from behind the huge oak tree at the bottom of the yard. This had always been his favourite spot to just sit and think, or read, or listen to his music; he’d miss this when he left town, though he knew it would be waiting for him when he returned.

“There you are, kid. Hiding away at your own party?” Bosco was standing on the lawn and tapping one foot impatiently, hands on his hips, though the pink apron he wore and the small smile on his face made a mockery of his serious stance. “You okay?”

Charles knew from experience that Bosco wouldn’t let him get away with a simple ‘fine’, and thought for a moment before offering a shrug. “Just thinking about a few things,” he said after another moment. “Remembering the first time I came here and met you guys.”

“Thinking about your Dad?” Bosco guessed, always so much sharper than he pretended to be, and Charles nodded. “That’s only natural. It’s your eighteenth birthday, after all. He’d have loved to be here. He’d be so incredibly proud of you.”

Sudden tears prickled at the back of Charles’s eyes, and he swallowed hard. He could only hope to be even half the man his father had been. 

“I hope I can live up to his reputation,” he admitted, and to his surprise Bosco actually laughed, stepping closer and draping one huge arm around Charles’s shoulders as he started them walking back up towards the house.

“You are gonna be incredible, Charles. Basic training is tough, you know that, but you’ve got the same guts and determination as your Dad.”

Another ten days and Charles would be there at last. College had never been part of his plans; he wanted to get out and see the world, and he’d always wanted to join the Army when he was growing up, even before he learned about Face. Maybe he’d make it into the Rangers one day, or maybe he’d try out for pilot training – James had always made it sound so much fun, and Charles had loved the times when he’d been able to fly with the pilot, though Bosco had tried his hardest to dissuade him.

As they drew closer to the decking at the back of the house, Charles could hear the laughter of the twins, now eight years old, as well as James singing along loudly with the music blaring from the speakers as he manned the grill expertly.

James suddenly looked up to see them approaching, and cheerfully called, “Charlie-boy! You ready for a birthday burger or three?”

As Temp and Jack started to run over to them, whooping loudly, Charles felt Bosco squeeze him around the shoulders tightly one more time. “Be your own man,” Bosco whispered in his ear. “That’s what he would’ve wanted, more than anything. Don’t take anything for granted. Be happy.”

And Charles nodded, lifting his chin proudly. He wouldn’t be defined by his past, though he would always remember it, and he would always remember Face, the man who had given him life and tragically lost his own. 

He was a lucky, lucky man. He wouldn’t waste this chance.

**Author's Note:**

> This story only exists because of a comment from the lovely Spot_On60, who suggested: "Face’s son learning about the real man who was his father, not just the medical or scientific subject. Who better to tell him than his father’s best friends, Murdock and BA." Thank you for the inspiration!


End file.
